And Breathless Darkness
by labyrinths
Summary: AU: Petyr was fostered with the Lannisters. How does this change things? Well, Cersei is still not a good girl.
1. Chapter 1

_**And Breathless Darkness**_

_AU: Petyr was fostered with the Lannisters. How does this change things? Well, Cersei is still not a good girl._

She doesn't sleep with Petyr Baelish because she loves him. Quite the contrary. He is ambitious, smart, competent, but he's also a nothing. Lord of a speck of sand.

No, she does it in a fit of rage. Father has announced Jaime's betrothal to Lysa Tully. Stupid, placid Lysa Tully. Cersei had told Jaime not to marry her and still he bowed under father's pressure. The thought of that cow as lady of Casterly Rock makes her blood boil.

Somehow, against all logic, she has always fancied herself Lady of the Rock. Even though it's impossible. Even though Casterly Rock belongs to Jaime as the firstborn son, she dares to think it is hers. She feels Jaime and Lysa have taken what is her own. She can never have what she wants. Not Rhaegar, not Jaime, not the power she hungers for or the home that should belong to her.

She hates Jaime, hates Lysa, hates father.

In a pique she summons Petyr because he'd told her, with a raised eyebrow and a smile, that Jaime would marry Lysa.

"He will not," Cersei had said.

"Oh, but he will," Petyr had said. What did the boy know?

And it had come to pass.

She summons Petyr and he looks very satisfied.

_I told you so_, his eyes scream.

She slaps him because she can't slap that moronic girl Jaime is marrying. Then she kisses him, but the kiss is as harsh as the slap. She shoves him onto her bed without modesty, filled with the fury that makes soldiers cut down men in battle with a single swing of the ax.

#

The blood on the bedsheets is like a badge of triumph. She hurls the soiled linen into the fireplace and watches it burn.

Later she tells Jaime that Petyr tried to take some liberties with her and the boys cross words, then swords. Jaime wins easily.

Petyr is sent away.

She does not bother biding him goodbye.

#

Robert Baratheon crowns Lyanna Stark his queen.

Cersei Lannister marries Jon Arryn. An old man, as old as Tywin Lannister. A marriage that will mend fragile bonds. An important alliance: this man is the King's Hand. Lord of the Eyrie, Warden of the East and Defender of the Vale.

Cersei thinks she will retch. The sight of him makes her sick.

She hates father for forcing this fool on her. Hates being passed over for a woman of lesser value yet _again_. Hates the fate which condemns her to this existence. She is but a womb, a pair of tits, a cow to be bartered and sold. A piece to be dragged across the board by father's capable hands.

If she could she'd take a sword in hand and cut them all to pieces. She would.

She swallows her bitterness, lets it sit in the pit of her stomach, and says her vows.

#

Petyr Baelish comes to court a few years later, flush with money and confidence. The slightly awkward boy she remembers has grown into a slim, grinning man. But still as ambitious.

"And I think you know Lord Petyr Baelish," her husband says as an introduction.

"I would hope so," Petyr says, inclining his head. "We played together as children."

"Yes, I recall some of that," Cersei mutters with a vague indifference.

#

She doesn't avoid him, but she does nothing to cross paths with that man. He is merely a smudge in her past, half-remembered, nearly forgotten. He held no importance for her. He had not been her sweetheart and they'd been lovers just that one time, which barely counts.

"What do you want, Lady Arryn?" he asks one day when she is walking through the gardens and they bump into each other. She's given him no hint that she wishes to converse with him, but Petyr brashly walks next to her, hands behind his back and speaks to her nevertheless.

She doesn't answer him.

"Do you remember," he says, with a smile, "when I fought a duel for you?"

"I remember my brother beat you bloody," she says with a shrug.

"That he did. He provided me with an important lesson, though. You know what I learnt losing that duel? I learnt that I'll never win. Not that way. That's their game, their rules. I'm not going to fight them: I'm going to fuck them. That's what I know, that's what I am, and only by admitting what we are can we get what we want."

"And what do you want?" she asks.

"Oh, everything, my dear. Everything there is."

She thinks about how long she's been following father's rules, the rules of the world, crushed by the implacable might of this stale existence. Able only to nudge forward or backward, but always playing on _their_ board.

Cersei looks at him very carefully.

#

"Everything," she says, but that's later.

Cersei has a certain number of satisfying things. She has a position of importance at court, her husband's wealth, a small boy with a mop of brown hair and her green eyes, a great deal of freedom – the King's Hand is a busy man who can scarcely pay attention to the comings and goings of his wife. But that is not _everything_.

"And what if you could have it?" he asks. "The Queen is barren."

"And I am married. I'd find it very dull to be a King's mistress."

"Married to an old man. Old men die every day."

"The Queen is young."

"We're friends, aren't we, Cersei?," he says whispering in her ear. "I'd like to think we are."

He gives her a genial smile. She replies with a smile of her own, more subdued.

_Maybe he thinks he can use me, like everyone has used me. But I can use him_. _I can make this my game._

"I'd like to think we might be," she replies, her voice a dagger that has been softly, oh so softly, drawn.

_Note: I know it's a bit of a crack pairing, but_ _I was thinking it would have been truly terrifying if Petyr and Cersei were somewhat of a couple.  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Very, very short companion piece from Petyr's POV. **

Cersei is one of the fairest girls he's ever seen. She is also distant, cold, haughty.

"When I grow up, I shall be queen. My father has told me so," she informs Petyr one warm summer day as they survey the sea. He thinks it shall come to pass.

She allows him to place a crown of wild flowers upon her head, allows him to kiss her. It is but a game, the kissing, children's play.

(She also plays this game with her brother, he knows as much)

And still, his heart skips a beat.

#

She summons him and he goes to her, thinking he will bear the brunt of her anger because every single time Jaime does something that displeases Cersei she takes it out on Petyr. He is very much a whipping boy, a sacrificial victim.

He knows her cruelties and her tricks.

He does not expect things to take the turn they take.

(Though perhaps, wickedly, he has dreamed this might happen. That he might eclipse Jaime. That Jaime might be torn from her side)

All of a sudden she is pressed against him, her lips against his own, and this kiss is completely different from whatever silly kisses they've shared before. There is no innocence to this, no sweetness as she removes his shirt and presses him against the bed. And he knows they should not do this, but he fumbles with her laces nevertheless, runs a trembling hand up her legs, spends himself inside her.

And all the while he whispers _I love you, I love you, I love you_, like only a green boy can.

(She does not whisper a single word back)

#

Her brother challenges him to a fight. He expects to win, expects her love, expects life will be like a song. But he is not the victor. Jaime pummels him, but the bruises hurt less than Cersei's indifference. She does not speak to him while he lays twisting in pain in his bed. When he leaves Casterly Rock he writers her a note.

(She never replies)

#

He grows up. Grows wiser. Understand the world and its mechanics. He learns the art of treachery and discovers that though he cannot wield a sword, words may cause more harm than any weapon. Along the way he acquires a certain necessary sophistication and an indispensable indifference.

(He thinks of her. Dwells on her. She leaves a scar)

#

She grows up too.

When he sees her again, she is no longer the pretty girl he crowned by the sea. Time has transformed Cersei into a formidable beauty. The lingering traces of childhood have melted from her features leaving behind a bold, elegant, regal mask. There is the hardness of steel beneath those delicate features.

He ought to hate her.

(Perhaps he does)

But he believes he might have a good use for her. He recognizes the hunger in her eyes and knows that her blind ambition is a weapon he can harness.

It is not wanton lust nor childish romance that draws him to her side.

Yet he stills wants her.

Covets her.

He wishes to bite hard into her shoulder until he leaves a mark, stains her in crimson.

(Like she marked him, once)

He shall have her.

#

She wears the Lannister colors well, red and gold, her hair flowing down her back, eclipsing all the woman at the feast. The King's hungry eyes follow her every movement while the Queen sits gray, still, turned to stone at his side. Petyr asks her for a dance and Cersei curves her lips slightly at the question. She takes his hand and accepts the invitation.

If someone saw them from afar they'd think them a gallant knight and his lady.

But he is no knight. She is no lady. They are not characters from storybooks, theirs is not a great love song.

If this is a game, then it is a dangerous one.

(And he plays it with a sure hand and a wicked smile)

THE END


End file.
